The Price of Turnabout
by Cutsceneaddict
Summary: Despite being proven innocent of all charges, rumors still abound of Miles Edgeworth's dishonest convictions of the accused. When a familiar murder occurs in San Diego, he agrees to prosecute, and the past he hoped to leave behind re-emerges in way even his nightmares can't conjure.
1. Story and Character Guide

**Introduction**

Timeline

To properly understand this story, you have to accept the fact that it is a slightly "alternate universe" fanfiction. All of the cases from the first three Phoenix Wright games have already occurred; however, Apollo Justice's story is still long in coming. The year is 2020—about one year after Phoenix's last big case. Note that in the canon story, Phoenix has already been disbarred at this point (back in 2019) and adopted Trucy. In my story, he is still an attorney, albeit a rather disjointed one. Think of it as there being an extra year-and-a-half or so between Phoenix's last great case and the case where he loses his badge to Klavier Gavin and you've basically got the idea of this fanfiction. Now, let's move onto the cast…

Cast of Characters

Note that revealing some of the characters in the story also reveals some of its best spoilers. That being said, the most prominent of the cast are detailed here, as well as a few of the "newcomers." This section basically serves to get you up to speed where everyone is at when the story begins.

**Phoenix Wright**

With his last case happening back in February of 2019, times have been less kindly to the renowned defense attorney. Wright has his hands full just paying the rent and feeding both himself and the newly-returned-from-training Maya Fey. A sort of lull in the crime rate has forced him to take up the most trivial of cases and clients, but as long as it generates some income, he isn't complaining. He may have hit the bottom of the judicial barrel, but his itch for justice is about to drive him headlong into a case he never intended—or wanted—to get involved with.

**Miles Edgeworth**

Despite being proven innocent of all charges, rumors still abound of Miles Edgeworth's dishonest convictions of the accused. This, coupled with a sense of duty to see Lana Skye escape her own shady dealings in the SL-9 case, sends him to Europe to assist her in starting a new life. A year later, after rumors of Edgeworth's falsities in court have simmered down somewhat, he returns to L.A., only to discover that much has changed in his absence. When a familiar murder occurs in San Diego, he agrees to prosecute, and the past he hoped to leave behind re-emerges in way even his nightmares can't conjure.

**Maya Fey**

Maya has mastered the ability to sense Psyche-Webs—networks representing the tension, lies, and conviction in an individual. Having been away in training for many years, she has at last returned to the Wright and Co. Law Office to check up on "Nick" and help consume his dinner… and salary. With a new case on the rise, Maya will find herself caught between two fires—duty and companionship.

**Detective Gumshoe**

Loyal as a hound-dog, the bumbling detective has been shadowing Mr. Edgeworth Sir's every step—from Europe to the States. Even _he_ finds it quite obvious that his prosecuting friend hasn't quite been himself lately, though, and that has him more on guard than ever (if ever he was "on guard" to begin with). Whatever the cost, he's determined to see things through to the end, pal.

**Pess**

Edgeworth's adopted dog from Germany is a female border collie with an extreme sense of protectiveness for her master. She is wary of strangers, but her faith is unshakable once trust is established. Edgeworth refuses to reveal the meaning behind her name, however…

**Augustus Wynd**

Court-assistant to defense attorney Hunter Lance, Augustus quickly catches the heart of Maya… and the eye of Edgeworth, earning him the title _Suspect #1_. A street-smart, unpredictable young man with an eye for the unseen, he keeps almost everyone off their guard because that's just how he prefers them. One thing is clear—there's far more to Augustus Wynd than his professional façade and charm are telling…

**Ree**

Little is known about the twelve-year-old boy who shadows Lance's every step. Fondly known as Misteree—or Ree for short—he never leaves the defense attorney's side. Ree doesn't speak a word, but Lance seems to depend on his presence in the courtroom none-the-less… almost as though Ree can provide a hidden advantage—one that even Augusts is incapable of fully understanding.

**Zephyr**

He's young. He's reckless. And he doesn't speak a word of English… or does he? With questionable motives and a suspicious alibi, Zephr rocks the courtroom with revelation. Is he the key to hitting the big testimony? Or will his debut crash and burn, along with the life of the defendant? Can he even be trusted? The evidence isn't telling… yet. But he has ways of making it talk.


	2. Foreward

Foreword

One year ago I was approached by an enthusiastic would-be author who asked my permission to write a novel on the events of the RS-77 case. My reflex reaction was to decline and refuse all support for the project, but once I heard her out, I began to understand her point-of-view. The events of that case were still rather fresh on my mind, and I was at first very unwilling to open old wounds. In my haste, I had mistaken her enthusiasm as a hunger for popularity, but she was far from the tabloid-hunter I'd first taken her to be. Her passion came from a drive—the same drive, I discovered, that has pushed me to move forward from the past.

Believe as you like, this novel isn't about me. If it were, I would have never given it my approval. _The Price of Turnabout_ happens to involve a large portion of my life, as well as the lives of others, but in the end it expands far beyond merely that. It isn't a story about the law. It is a story about the meaning of justice and the price of truth. It is both a memorial to the past and a warning to the future generation of attorneys. For that reason—and for that reason _alone_—do I give this novel, and its author, my full endorsement.

I must agree that it's hardly an easy read. I finished it over the space of one month, taking deliberate pauses in-between to reflect. At times, I feel as though these pages pulse with a life of their own, and then I wonder if—in reality—it is my heart that I've set out on the market's self and not a chronicle of the RS-77 case. I haven't been able to say this about many novels, but I can honestly state that reading _The Price of Turnabout_ has been a personal experience; it is every bit as real as the days these events occurred.

To readers, I say: take caution. What you are about to venture into may be shocking and unfamiliar territory. I hope that RS-77 will envelop your minds and refuse to leave.

To attorneys, I say: take these words with the weight that they deserve. A day is coming when we may all be disbarred at the whim of the judge or the word of the opposition. The law is not absolute, but justice does not change. The truth is the truth. Man did not create it, nor can man taint it. The law, unfortunately, is not so.

To my father: "It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

Thank you.

—**Miles Edgeworth, Prosecutor**


	3. Demon

Part One: the Prosecutor

"_It doesn't matter how many underhanded tricks a person uses… The truth will always find a way to make itself known. The only thing we can do is to fight with the knowledge we hold and everything we have. Erasing the paradoxes one by one… It's never easy… We claw and scratch for every inch. But we will always eventually reach that one single truth. This, I promise you."_

* * *

Chapter 1: Demon

"How do you plead, Mr. Edgeworth?"

The question reverberated inside his skull, trapped there to resound for eternity. Trapped, just like he was, standing before a sea of shadowy faces—those who had been unfortunate enough to end up against him in their battle for innocence. He had been their condemner.

Now they were his jury.

The judge towered over him like a monolithic god, gavel raised like a sacred war-hammer. The voice boomed out again as the instrument rose another threatening inch:

"_How do you plead, Mr. Edgeworth?"_

He stood, alone, manacled to the defendant's podium, beneath a sourceless, blinding light. He couldn't face it, let alone lock eyes with the man who would pronounce his verdict. That left him staring out into the void, where the specters of past defendants loomed. He knew them each by name, remembered how he had brought the guilty verdict crashing down on their heads—forged evidence, falsified witnesses, perjury, under-handed dealings…

Those dead faces almost made the light bearable.

In the end, he could only plant his elbows against the podium and hide his face in his hands. Sweat dripped down his neck, regardless that the air was cold enough to mist his breath.

"_MR. EDGEWORTH-!"_

"Guilty, your honor."

He cringed at the sound of himself choking on his own voice. Perspiration trickled between his fingers, dripping down the backs of his hands. The grave silence deafened him a moment, then each thunderous syllable of the judge's sentence rocked his body like an earthquake.

Like _the _earthquake.

"Let the jury decide. Their blood is on your hands."

Something pungent stung his nostrils—a sickly-sweet, overbearing scent that he had learned to detect while investigating crime scenes. It wasn't a sweaty smell. He wasn't sweating.

He jerked the hands from his face and held them in front of his eyes, realizing for the first time that they were pooling blood. The same red liquid streaked his cheeks and clung to his hair. Stunned, he lowered his hands to the podium, revealing the figure of a girl standing before him. This specter had dared to step into the column of light with him, and burned pale and bright-eyed beneath its glow. Her dark hair perfectly still, her arched back unmoving, she held her arm stiff and level at his face, finger pointed right between his eyes.

He had used the gesture many times while offering the decisive evidence at a murder trial; it was as good as a thumbs-down in the arenas of ancient days. It meant you were finished.

But this unnerving knowledge was second to the girl's identity. She hadn't been found guilty, despite his best attempts. She had been the first to escape him… Why was she here with his other ghosts?

He dared to lean back, putting another few inches between himself and the condemning finger, "Maya…? Why—"

"Demon!" she hissed.

"_Demon!"_ The jury's voices melded into one mighty rumble of thunder, blasting into him with the force of a hurricane. Every index finger accused him. Every dead eye burned a trench in his sides. He clutched the podium to steady himself, watching blankly as beads of bloody sweat slid down his face and splashed onto its surface.

"Does the defendant have any objections?" the nightmarish judge steadied the gavel, its eyes burning yellow against the black shroud of its body.

His hands tightened around the edges of the podium until they splintered with a spine-snapping crackle. He was shaking now, uncontrollably, the sharp word cutting his heart with each echo…

_Demon… demon… demon… demon…_

He had accepted _guilty_. But this…

He couldn't remember how to form words, even if he could have managed to thrust them out.

A blade of lightening cut the void behind the judge's apparition.

"I pronounce the defendant, Miles Edgeworth… a _demon!_"

The gavel flashed fire, smiting the stopper so hard that it split the judge's booth. The crack zig-zagged down the length of the stand until it reached the void below. The entire world began to cut itself in half as the crack shot towards the defendant's platform, leaving an ever-widening rift in its wake.

"_Demon!"_ The bloodthirsty crowd seemed content to watch him die.

The world parted between his feet. The defendant's podium groaned suddenly to one-side, tilting haphazardly into widening rift, his body jerking mercilessly along with it. He was chained to the accursed thing. He couldn't break free of it.

Every booming word from the judge only tore the chasm farther apart. He cringed with each rumble, fumbling for some solution.

"Miles Edgeworth is beyond the guilty verdict. A demon without hope, without remorse, without any chance of redemption. Suitable only for condemnation!"

The canyon yawned open beneath him, blinding and burning with light, stinging his skin with a heat that dug into every pore.

The podium tipped off into the gorge.

He felt himself break.

Then, Miles Edgeworth fell…


	4. Restlessness

Chapter 2: Restlessness

…right out of his office chair, onto the floor.

Something pounced on his chest and then started smacking him across the face with a wet tongue.

Edgeworth came fully alert then, turning his head away to avoid anymore of the "friendly wake-up call treatment." He pushed the border collie's muzzle out of his face and tried to catch his breath.

The dog craned her neck, ears perked in cautious alarm. She whined softly, asking the silent question: _Are you alright?_

"I would be _more_ alright if you weren't standing on me, complicating my breathing, Pess."

Alarmed, Pess vaulted off of his chest, completely winding him. Once he had sat up, she wedged underneath his arm and wagged her tail apologetically. They held still a moment, and Edgeworth realized for the first time that his heart was beating against his ribcage as though it might burst through at any second.

Pess tilted her nose, daring to lick him under the jaw and bring him back to focus. Edgeworth rewarded her with a faint smile, patting her on the flank. The border collie had been adopted only a few months ago, but their bond had been magnetic; he was her protector and she was medicine for his soul—someone he could confide in. He had never quite had that in his life before.

"It was only another dream," he assured her, reading the concern in those soft, dark eyes. "I'm alright."

She nuzzled against his chest—as good as any mother's "don't ever scare me like that again!"—before trotting off to sniff around his desk.

Still somewhat dazed, Edgeworth tried to direct his mind to something concrete—something that made sense in a world of utter senselessness.

"Now… let's see what happened here…"

Finding his legs, Miles stood, straightened his coat, smoothed his sopping-wet cravat, brushed a piece of hair back where it belonged, and slid a trembling hand into his left pocket—in that order. He was ready for the world again…

"_Mr. Edgeworth, sir!"_

…almost.

The office door smashed open, chipping paint off of the inner wall as it banged against it. A wide-shouldered figure, who practically filled the doorway, lumbered in, proudly holding a thick volume under one arm.

"I've got the documents you asked for, Mr. Edgeworth, sir! Sorry it took so long. I got my coat trapped in the security door and they had to call for the jaws of life just to get me outta that mess. Good thing they did too, 'cause I can't afford another one of these coats, pal…" He paused a moment, taking in the odd scene in the office for the first time.

Then the panic/realization/common-sense set in.

The volume slapped onto the nearest table, vibrating a frame on the wall. The detective was on top of him before he could so much as brace himself.

"Mr. Edgeworth, sir! What happened to you?! You're all _wet!_ You go swimming with Mr. Gant or somethin'? You could've at least worn somethin' other than your suit, pal!"

Miles stepped back, reinstating his preferred "comfort space" before he began any explanation. That was a life-saving lesson he had learned in the court-room. Get out of reach first, then deliver the verbal ultimatum. There were better odds of escaping that way.

"Firstly, Detective Gumshoe, Daemon Gant received his guilty verdict over two years ago so the odds of my doing anything _with_ him are minimal at best. Secondly, the "jaws of life" is strictly used for automobile accidents—"

Gumshoe tapped at a pink puddle that had formed around one of the desk legs, "What _happened_ in here, sir? It looks like a crime scene! You kill someone while I was gone?"

Edgeworth paused from scanning the desk, fixing Gumshoe with "the eye."

"That wasn't funny, detective. I'd rather we didn't joke about death. Particularly my involvement in it."

Lowering his eyes like a scolded puppy, Gumshoe scratched at his neck, "Aw… I'm sorry, Mr. Edgeworth, sir. I didn't mean it that way. Just tryin' to lighten the mood a bit, pal. And it's not like you've killed anybody or nothin'—"

The prosecutor felt his eye twitch at the corner, "Detective!"

Gumshoe jumped to full attention, "Matter dropped, Mr. Edgeworth, sir! Completely forgotten, sir!"

Miles gave him an extended glare, just to make sure. Then he went back to sorting papers on his desk. For almost an entire minute, that was the only sound in the room.

…Almost.

"Er… Mr. Edgeworth, sir?"

The other paused in his work, blinking irately at the speaker.

It took Gumshoe a moment to realize this was silent permission to continue.

"Oh! Er… Aren't you gonna tell me what happened here, sir?"

Edgeworth slipped out of his maroon coat and began unknotting the dripping cravat, "I'd say it's obvious enough, but very well. Hand me that towel on the hanger there, will you?"

The hapless detective maneuvered the room with painful caution. He was rather good at upsetting things that weren't meant to be upset. Especially Mr. Edgeworth.

Edgeworth reached blindly for the towel, far too focused on moving all of the paperwork away from the wet patches on his desk, to take any notice of the detective's approach. When a corner of the cloth finally brushed his fingers, he pulled it away and began an immediate wipe-down, starting with himself; one side of his face, as well as much of his arms and jacket, were soaked through.

His fingers quivered uncontrollably at the sight of the pink liquid dripping down them. It was too much like the dream. No wonder it had felt so real…

"Gah! Mr. Edgeworth, sir! The dog's licking up the crime scene!"

As Gumshoe bounced from one foot to the other, Pess looked up from the puddle she had been lapping at and cocked a dignified ear.

"Tea, detective. _Tea," _Edgeworth scrubbed at his hair with the towel, too pre-occupied with thoughts of bloody hands to consider what his hair would look like afterwards.

As if to emphasis the point, Pess flipped the upended tea-cup onto her nose and paraded out in front of Gumshoe. Stopping next to her master, she allowed Edgeworth to remove the cup before she returned to puddle-lapping.

"I've never seen pink-colored tea before, Mr. Edgeworth, sir," Gumshoe, scratched his chin, half-awed and half-puzzled.

The prosecutor set the cup in its rightful place and then began running the towel over the desk-top, "It's a new import. Kashmiri Pink Tea, clinically proven to help with… restlessness."

"Well, it'll probably only help if you drink it, sir. How'd you spill it all over your desk? Don't you know it'll get all stained if you do that?"

Edgeworth paused, straightened up, and draped the towel over one arm, "The desk is water-proofed. It may surprise you, but I actually think ahead to avoid disasters like this."

Gumshoe side-stepped to let Pess get at a final puddle. He nodded gravely, "Spilling tea is quite a disaster, sir."

Miles straightened one of the paper stacks, "Let me show you how investigating works, detective." Raising a well-trained eyebrow, he indicated each object in turn, "As you can see, the desk chair is askew. The angle suggests that some force caused it to turn. Tea stains on the floor, as well as on my person, show clear indication that something upset the cup on the desk, causing it to spill—primarily on the left side, I might add. As my outer coat had two well-formed paw prints on the left side, and my ribs on that side are more tender than usual at the moment, I can only assume that Pess shoved me out of the chair to wake me up."

"Wake you up, sir?"

"Yes. It's clear to me that I fell asleep on my desk and spilled the tea, which unintentionally forced Pess to try and wake me."

"But if you were sleeping, how'd you spill it, sir?"

"Restlessness, detective."

Edgeworth cringed as Gumshoe slapped a huge arm around his shoulders, "Aw, Mr. Edgeworth… You need some _real _rest. You've been pushing yourself way too hard, pal. I mean, we just got back from Europe and all that… You sure you still want to take this new case on?"

The prosecutor disentangled himself and paced over to the open window behind the desk. He folded his arms, staring out into the night… into the void. He shuddered and closed the blinds, not wanting to imagine one of _their_ faces in the darkness.

"…Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Yes, I'm sure. We leave for San Diego tomorrow at noon. I want you to be fully prepared so we can depart on time."

Gumshoe beamed a jaw-to-jaw grin, "Consider it done, pal—sir! I won't let you down! You watch and see, Mr. Edgeworth. I won't lose the office key, or lock myself in the data room, or forget the directions, or your spare cravat, or my teddy bear, or anything this time, sir! No set-backs, guaranteed!"

"I'll prepare myself for the worst, in any case. Thank you, detective." Edgeworth drummed his fingers distractedly on the desk.

Gumshoe took a long step backwards, patting the volume as he passed, "The files you requested are right here, sir. If you need anything else, just let me kn—"

_Demon…!_

_Maya flashed before his eyes. White, glowing, condemning with the finger of justice…_

Edgeworth reeled unsteadily, gripping the edge of the desk to check his balance. Pess shot to his side, rubbing up against him and barking fearfully.

With surprising agility, the detective launched himself around the furniture, just in time to steady the prosecutor as he began bending forward over the desk.

"Mr. Edgeworth! What's wrong? Answer me! Say something, pal!"

"Stop screaming down my ear, d-detective! I can't hear myself think!" With one palm braced on the flat surface and the other massaging his temple, the prosecutor fought against the unnatural weakness in his shaking limbs.

Gumshoe steadied his friend's shoulders, speaking in the loudest whisper that he dared, "Mr. Edgeworth, this ain't like you, sir! Let me run for the doctor—"

"No!"

The retort couldn't have startled Gumshoe more if he had stuck a fork in an electric socket. And that was something he _had_ done before, once.

As quickly as the bout had come, Edgeworth's limbs stiffened again and he found the strength to stand upright.

"There. I'm alright now. It was nothing."

He took a confident step towards his office chair and collapsed right into Gumshoe's prepared arms. Hauling the stubborn prosecutor upright, the detective lifted him into the office chair and then stood over him, arms crossed and fidgety with worry. In the silence, Edgeworth leaned forward, hands on his knees, breathing deeply, pulse pounding in his skull. A light rain began tapping on the glass behind him.

Clearly uncomfortable, Gumshoe shifted his gaze between the window and the desk, at last cutting the silence with, "Just… restlessness, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Distant thunder began growling its ambiance.

Setting his elbows on his knees, Edgeworth interlocked his fingers and brought them to his chin contemplatively.

Finally, he muttered, "Perhaps." But a louder rumble masked the word.

"Eh? What's that, sir?" Gumshoe leaned forward, brow furrowed.

Taking up a more proper posture in the ninety-degree seat, Miles began sorting through the paperwork again as though nothing odd had ever occurred.

"Detective, I need you to bring me the Court Record for the TS-2 case—dated September 5-9, 2016. I am interested particularly in the dialogue between attorneys. Can you manage that without losing your coat all-together?"

Gumshoe gave him such a long, askance look that Edgeworth stopped the mindless sorting and met him eye-to-eye.

"Is there a problem, detective?"

Gumshoe tapped his foot, uncertain if he had overstepped any "respect" bounds and lost some percent of his pay for the week.

"Promise me you won't try to move around or anything while I'm gone Mr. Edgeworth, sir. I don't want to come in and find you on the floor. It just ain't you, pal. I couldn't live with myself if somethin' happened to you while I was gone."

Edgeworth noticed with alarm that the detective's bottom lip was actually trembling. He had never seen Gumshoe this flustered over him before.

Sensing the turmoil, Pess reared up, drooping her upper body over Edgeworth's legs. She laid her head firmly on his lap and gazed up at him apologetically. _I'll make sure he doesn't get up_, she seemed to say.

Gumshoe ruffled the dog's ears fondly, "Good girl. Y'see Mr. Edgeworth, you got us both worried about you. I'll be right back, OK?"

Hesitantly moving towards the door, the detective looked back one last time to be sure of himself, "J-just stay there, sir. I'll be back in a flash!"

* * *

As soon as the door closed, Edgeworth lay back, closed his eyes, and groaned—not out of annoyance, but out of pain; something he rarely allowed himself to do, even in private. Pess whined and snuggled closer as the storm rumbled outside the Prosecutor's Office. He rubbed her ear between his fingers, and willed his heart to stop pounding.

"It's the ghosts again, Pess," he murmured to her.


	5. Changing Plans

Chapter 3: Changing Plans

Gumshoe came bursting back into the office—record-time—illuminated by a ripping flash of lightening. Startled out of mid-sleep, Edgeworth demanded that his nerves relax; it was an impossible order, but he simply didn't know what else to do at this point.

"Here ya are, sir! TS-2 files!" he blew a coat of dust off of the binder before smacking it down on Edgeworth's desk. Miles jolted at the impact, nerves frayed to the core, but Gumshoe was either too curious about the old file—or just too inobservant—to notice.

A strained inhale later, Edgeworth locked his shaking hands around the document, pulled it over to him, and flipped to the first page. A second flash cast flickering shadows along the page, as his stormy-grey eyes burned across the words:

_Case No. TS-2. _

_September 5-9, 2016_

_Courtroom No. 1, District Court, L.A._

_Defending Attorney: Phoenix Wright_

_Prosecuting Attorney: Miles Edgeworth_

_Defendant: Maya Fey_

_Victim: Mia Fey_

"Say, Mr. Edgeworth…?"

He flipped a page, never once tearing his gaze away, "Hmm?"

"Isn't that the case where you accused Maya Fey of murder for killing her sister? And then we found out the _real_ killer was that White Redd guy? And then you lost your first trial ever to that attorney guy, Mr.—er—Harry Wright?"

Not bothering to correct his bumbling companion's inaccuracies, Edgeworth pulled a notepad and pen from the desk drawer and began scribbling—glancing between the record and the pad as he did so.

"Gumshoe, are you peering over my shoulder? That's considered rude, you know."

"Well, I can't really look over your shoulder while I'm standing in front of you. It's more like I'm looking down at it from the front of you—which is a lot easier if you ask me… except when your head gets in the way, of course, Mr. Edgeworth…" At the sight of the prosecutor's icy glare, the detective made an elaborate about-face, trench sending out a gust of air in the process.

"Sorry, sir! I won't look, sir! But I hope you don't mind me asking—"

Edgeworth ran his finger along a line, gaze narrow, "Hmm?"

"What's this gotta do with the current case, sir?"

"Everything and nothing, detective."

"Oh, OK. That makes sense, sir… I think. If you say so, sir."

An hour later—midnight—saw Miles Edgeworth alone in his office, pouring over a pad of hastily-written notes. He firmly believed that everything in the world had to add up to something or other. History was simply the world's longest court case—all of the evidence, all of the record, all of the _everything_—was there; it merely needed to be put in its logical place to make sense.

Even his macabre nightmare had to have its place, though he was having a difficult time believing that up until this moment…

…It all made sense now.

Painful as it was, he forced himself to review the in-court exchanges he had copied down in the notepad. The court record itself couldn't be taken outside of the building without special permission, so he had had to be very thorough.

_TS-2 Notes: Selected In-Court Quotations_

"_This girl is a murderer, your honor. Do not let yourself be blinded by her seemingly innocent demeanor. She must be convicted here and now, or she will repeat this atrocity."_

"_There is no room for mercy in a court of law, Mr. Wright!"_

"_Taking after the vulgar tactics of your dead mentor, Wright? You can see where it got her. I expected so much better from you…"_

"_The evidence leaves no room for doubt, Your Honor. What more is necessary? Maya Fey is guilty and she will not escape this court of law!" _

Setting the notebook on the desk, Edgeworth put a hand across his eyes to block out the world and processed. The words were so remorseless… so full of self-piety… but the worst of it was that there was no taking them back. He shuddered to think that Manfred von Karma had drilled some of those very lines into him, until they had become a part of who he was… and a part of the permanent court record. A man could turn his back on the past, but the past could never leave the man.

An unbearable resentment wrung his stomach. His dream was a message… perhaps even a warning.

He had never asked for Maya's forgiveness. He had come close once or twice, but cowardice had stopped him. When he had been in her place—accused of a murder he did not commit—she had spoken up on his behalf when all else was lost. Security had dragged her away to prison. He had paid for her release.

That was as close to reconciliation as they had ever come. Maya didn't _seem_ to show any hatred for him, but that didn't account for the kinds of feelings boiling deep down inside her. If there was one thing Edgeworth's childhood had taught him, it was that appearances were of little value. Underneath, a world of pain, isolation, and fear, could thrive—unobserved and unnoticed by the world.

He had insulted Mia Fey—a woman who had been twice the attorney he ever would, and he had furthermore accused Maya of killing the only family she had left in the world—a person who she loved more than anyone else. Edgeworth knew that feeling well; it had haunted him ever since he had thrown a gun into the darkness of a trapped elevator.

Maya had been fortunate—the first defendant to _ever_ escape his judgment.

But if things had been different…?

That thought kept him up for the rest of the night.

* * *

Gumshoe blasted out of mid-snore into wakefulness at the sound of his ring-tone's first chimes. Bouncing out of a recliner and vaulting a table, he swiped the buzzing cell-phone off of the countertop, lost his grip on it, juggled it in his hands, and then snatched it up again. The caller I.D. read "Mr. Edgeworth, Sir." Punching the "accept" button, the frazzled detective roared into the receiver, "Mr. Edgeworth, sir! Is everything OK, sir?! Speak to me, sir!"

"I'm alright, Gumshoe. I haven't left the desk, as promised."

Sighing out a geyser of withheld breath, Gumshoe none-the-less began pacing, "Oh! Of course, sir! I know you'd never break your word, sir. Don't think that I was saying that. I just—"

"I understand. Listen, I need you to begin packing for tomorrow. We'll be making an additional stop on the way to San Diego; ergo, I would like to leave first thing in the morning."

Glancing at the digital Blue Badger Clock on his dresser, Gumshoe noted the time—2:13 a.m. He nodded complacently, "Got it, sir! But where is it that we're stopping? Did you get a new lead or somethin'?"

The voice at the other end ceased a moment. Just as Gumshoe was getting concerned, Edgeworth answered, "I've been abroad in Europe for a year now—sorting out legal matters, aiding Mrs. Skye in her struggle to regain the respect of the law… I believe it's time I paid a visit to an old friend."

"And—er—who might that be, sir?"

"…Gumshoe, the more questions you ask, the less time you have to spend on truly important matters."

"Like… packing for tomorrow, sir?"

"Like packing for tomorrow, detective."


	6. Exhaustion

Chapter 4: Exhaustion

"Eeeeeekkkkkk! Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick!"

Phoenix Wright's entire body kicked into motion, lunging off of the sofa and landing him smack on his face. The good news? He was still entangled in the thick comforter, which had managed to break his fall. The bad news? He was still entangled.

Panic driving him to reach the voice, he battled with his quilted prison until he had managed to thrust his feet through an opening at the bottom and stand up. Not bothering, or able, to free himself of the heavy blanket knotted around his body, Wright bulldozed through the office, dragging every inch of the fabric along with him. Tipsy from lack of sleep, he sacrificed no less than a chair, three notebooks, and a stack of paperwork, to the floor, before he'd reached the bedroom and breathlessly wrenched the knob open.

"_Maya_!"

Phoenix squinted against the onslaught of flickering light that shot into his tired eyes. The _Steel Samurai_ soundtrack accompanied by a gritty announcer, buzzed over a set of exhausted speakers. Maya sat cross-legged on the floor, shrouded in a blanket like a human teepee, her face a foot from the static-laden television screen. Her dark-haired head whipped around owlishly, "Nick! Niiick! Guess _what_?!"

He rubbed sleep from a redden eye and groaned. Maya obviously took it for a _What?_

"The _Steel Samurai_ Broadway is coming to San Diego! That's soooo close_!_ Can we go Nick? Canwecanwecanwecanwe, pleeeeeaaassseee!?"

Phoenix swayed in the doorway a moment to the rhythm of his pounding head, groaning, "Maya that's two hours away… and we don't have a car."

Ignoring her bemoaned friend, the girl stuck her cheek to the TV and sighed, "But it's the _Steel Samurai_, Nick! This isn't something you get to see every day!"

Turning away from the bursting text and flashing blades on the screen, Phoenix ran his fingers through a mop of unkempt, black hair, "Right. You get to see it twice a day… everyday. And that's not counting commercial cameos."

Maya's head whipped back at him again, arms crossed disapprovingly, "I'm not talking about the _show_! I'm talking about the _Broadway_! The action unfolding right before your eyes! The gleaming swords, the awesome take-downs, the heart-breaking romance, the mighty power of the Tsunami X-Spear!"

"Maya… we can't—."

Digging a phone out from under her blanket, Maya swung it aloft and began tapping the screen, "Don't worry, I've got it all figured out. I did some quick internet searches on my iPhone, and if we start walking first thing tomorrow, we could probably reach San Diego in a day or two! That is, if there's no rain or fog or car wrecks. Now, if we found a nice guy in a truck, we could just hitchhike, and that would save us about thr—"

"Goodnight, Maya."

Wright shuffled off back to the office like an intoxicated penguin, listening as Maya continued scheming aloud behind him. Hitching the comforter up to keep it from tripping him, he thought back over the events of the last year. Things had been oddly uneventful, and a famine in serious crime had left him working only the most trivial of court cases—hardly enough to pay the rent, let alone the food and the taxi bill. Maya had returned to the Wright and Co. Law Office after a long period away in training, but the same energy that made her a delight to be around in the daytime never failed to wake him up in the middle of the night. As a result, he had become progressively exhausted.

But somehow he couldn't pass all of the blame on Maya. There was something lingering in the office, even before her return—something that seemed to be chewing at his mind. He couldn't really name the beast; it was just some sort of exhaustion brought about from a lack of motivation and purpose. Everything from his living conditions, to his career, to himself, seemed to be deteriorating as a result.

He felt the stubble emerging along his jaw, and reminded himself _again_ that he needed to shave. He only hoped that the old razor had a few more uses left in it. He'd hate to spend money on something as trivial as that. There were more important things to deal with first… like Maya's insatiable appetite.

And now she was thinking of more than just burgers. She was hungry for the _Steel Samurai_ Broadway. Phoenix didn't want to think about how much that would cost. As much as he disliked that over-rated kids' show, he regretted not being able to pay for Maya's ticket… or transportation… or burgers…

She deserved something better—something much better than he would ever be able to give her.

But that was the life of a defense attorney. Lots of reward. Little pay. Mia had warned him about that, long ago.

He sighed.

Maybe if he just didn't say anything about this whole Broadway thing, Maya would forget all about it.

Right. And maybe Edgeworth would show up for coffee and a friendly chit-chat tomorrow morning, seeing as they hadn't seen each other in over a year.

Just as he was nearing the couch, Phoenix slipped on one of the scattered documents and fell flat again. He had intended to reach the couch—his usual sleeping spot—but beggars couldn't be choosers, and he was far too exhausted to be picky. A moment later, he was curled up, snoring.

* * *

A rapt knock pulled Phoenix out of a dream swirling with samurais, swords, and cellphones. He raised his head warily off the floor and listened as the sound repeated. Daylight streamed through the window.

_Who would be calling so early?_

Pulling the blanket tightly around his shoulders to ward off the chill, Phoenix creaked to his feet and glanced around at the empty office.

"…Maya?"

_Hmmm… Probably in bed since she was up so late last night._

The knock came again, more impatiently this time.

_Or possibly locked outside. However __that__ might have happened._

Scooting over to the door on holey socks, Phoenix turned the handle and shoved the door wide open into the hallway just as Maya ran up behind him.

"Nick, who is it?"

For being so exhausted, his neck swiveled backwards at an alarming rate, "Huh? Maya! But you—"

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

_That voice._

_No._

_That would be beyond coincidence. That would be almost cruel. That would be-! _

"Good morning, Wright. I'll be the first to say, it's been a long time."

…_Edgeworth._

* * *

Maya sidestepped smartly as Phoenix tipped backwards and hit the floor like a lead statue. With the form of Edgeworth now clearly visible in the doorframe, Maya waved cheerily at him before blinking owlishly at Wright's limp form.

"Good morning, Mr. Edgeworth! I hate to say this, but I think you just killed Nick. Hope you know a good defense attorney."


End file.
